


One Night at the Hard Rock

by ras_elased



Category: SGA - Fandom
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-07-11
Updated: 2007-07-11
Packaged: 2017-10-11 13:33:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,289
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/112941
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ras_elased/pseuds/ras_elased
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In the six weeks Rodney spent on Earth during The Return, he met Mike Sheridan at the Hard Rock Hotel in Las Vegas. Takes place between the OTP (One True Phone call) and Rodney's dinner in Colorado.</p>
            </blockquote>





	One Night at the Hard Rock

**Author's Note:**

> Once again, giant thanks to my beta, [](http://beadattitude.livejournal.com/profile)[**beadattitude**](http://beadattitude.livejournal.com/), for all her hard work on this. My characterization of Mike might be a little off from how his character was intended on CSI: Miami, but his comment that the fighting "Juices up the sex" makes me think the fighting is as much a turn on for him as it is about his need to feel powerful, and that the abuse was him going overboard in that aspect of his personality. Basically, it's my attempt to make him a more sympathetic character, but I wanted to make it clear that I in _no way_ condone the abuse. Any relationship involving that kind of violence is _not_ healthy, and if you find yourself in that kind of situation you _need to get out._

  
  
  
  
  


**Entry tags:**

| 

  
[fandom: sga](http://ras-fic.livejournal.com/tag/fandom%3A%20sga), [fic: one night at the hard rock](http://ras-fic.livejournal.com/tag/fic%3A%20one%20night%20at%20the%20hard%20rock), [genre: angst](http://ras-fic.livejournal.com/tag/genre%3A%20angst), [genre: prompt/challenge response](http://ras-fic.livejournal.com/tag/genre%3A%20prompt%2Fchallenge%20response), [pairing: mcshep](http://ras-fic.livejournal.com/tag/pairing%3A%20mcshep), [pairing: rodney/mike](http://ras-fic.livejournal.com/tag/pairing%3A%20rodney%2Fmike), [rating: nc-17](http://ras-fic.livejournal.com/tag/rating%3A%20nc-17)  
  
  
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This was originally posted on [](http://community.livejournal.com/sluttyvegas/profile)[**sluttyvegas**](http://community.livejournal.com/sluttyvegas/), but that comm has since been deleted. This is a repost.

Title: One Night at the Hard Rock  
Author: Ras Elased  
Pairing: Rodney/Mike Sheridan, Rodney/John implied  
Rating: NC-17  
Summary: In the six weeks Rodney spent on Earth during The Return, he met Mike Sheridan at the Hard Rock Hotel in Las Vegas. Takes place between the OTP (One True Phone call) and Rodney's dinner in Colorado.  
Warnings: Dark. Rough, angry sex.  
Author's notes: Once again, giant thanks to my beta, [](http://beadattitude.livejournal.com/profile)[**beadattitude**](http://beadattitude.livejournal.com/), for all her hard work on this. My characterization of Mike might be a little off from how his character was intended on CSI: Miami, but his comment that the fighting "Juices up the sex" makes me think the fighting is as much a turn on for him as it is about his need to feel powerful, and that the abuse was him going overboard in that aspect of his personality. Basically, it's my attempt to make him a more sympathetic character, but I wanted to make it clear that I in _no way_ condone the abuse. Any relationship involving that kind of violence is _not_ healthy, and if you find yourself in that kind of situation you _need to get out._

  
~~~

Finishing the last of his drink, Mike gathered up what remained of his meager pile of chips and got ready to leave the Blackjack table. At the dealer's token expression of thanks and instructions to "Have a nice night, sir," Mike flipped him off with a smile and headed for the bar. He needed another drink, damn it.

He made his way past the slots, all jingling coins and flashing lights and blaring rock music. He maneuvered through the casino floor like he was navigating a particularly noisy, well-lit labyrinth, so familiar yet so different from the smaller casinos he'd left behind in Miami. This place was designed especially to attract the drunken trash that rolled off the busy streets of the Las Vegas strip. Judging by the throngs of leather-clad bodies Mike had to shove his way through, it was doing one hell of a job. The crowd was easy to get lost in, a mass of people too caught up in their own rock star dreams to give Mike so much as a passing glance. And that was exactly what Mike wanted, because the other alternative was getting drunk alone in his hotel room, and well, _fuck that._

Mike had been forced to stay in Miami for a year after his conviction for accidentally setting that fire in the Everglades, though he had managed to plea out and got off with a hefty fine and 1000 hours of community service instead of jail time. Julie had welcomed him back with open arms after the whole fiasco, as he knew she would, because she always did. They took up where they'd left off, fighting and fucking and simultaneously loving and hating the shit out of each other. But Mike had known it was over the day she stopped fighting back. He'd knocked her down and she hadn't bothered to get back up. He'd hurled every insult in the book at her, and she'd just looked up at him from the floor with sad, resigned eyes, with none of the fire he'd loved about her at first sight, and Mike had thought, "What's the point?" As soon as he'd carried out the conditions of his sentence, he couldn't get out of Miami fast enough.

So now, here he was in whatever-the-fuck casino in Las Vegas—Hard Rock, his alcohol-slurred brain supplied, though they all blurred together after enough time and martinis. He was glad that the noisy blinging of the slots was drowning out the sound of Julie's voice in his head, goading him with unsolicited betting advice, because that Julie didn't exist anymore. And feeling sorry for himself was for pussies, so he elbowed his way past a drunken wannabe rocker and made his way towards the bar.

Ten feet away, he spotted the back of a familiar, fuzzy brown head, and immediately recognized him as the guy from the Blackjack table. He'd already had an impressive pile of chips when Mike had joined the game. He'd given Mike a double take with uneasy blue eyes that had piqued Mike's curiosity. The guy then proceeded to make asshole comments to everyone at the table except Mike, instead making it a point to ignore him, which only served to make Mike all the more interested. The guy had only played a few more hands before abruptly leaving the table. Mike had briefly entertained the notion of following him, but he was on a roll at the time, so he stayed.

Now, he had a chance to get a good look at the guy, noticing the giant pile of uncashed chips and half full bottle of Molson's at his side. There were a few peeled-off labels next to it, but no empty bottles. The bartender had obviously been serving this guy for a while. And judging by the morose way he was staring at the cell phone he idly twirled between his fingers, Mike guessed he was drinking with intent.

Maybe it was curiosity, maybe it was his refusal to be alone, or maybe it was because he recognized something in the guy's mood that he couldn't admit to feeling himself. For whatever reason, he took the empty seat next to the guy at the bar. He ordered a Scotch and soda, then turned to the man. "So you're either the luckiest bastard in this place, or you've got one hell of a system."

The guy gave him a shocked look for a full three seconds, blue eyes wide and piercing, before Mike indicated his pile of chips with a nod. "Oh, right, that," he said absently, taking a hasty drink of his beer. When he'd finished, he seemed more focused. "Please, like I need a 'system' when I have raw brainpower on my side. Gambling is all just numbers and probability, though I'm sure that's beyond the intellectual capacity of someone who can't tell the difference between a shirt and bad 1970's drapery."

Anybody else would have gotten up and walked away after a comment like that. Mike just narrowed his eyes, feeling a small adrenaline rush at the fiery retort. "At least I'm not fucking brooding in a corner, waiting for the missus to call and check up on me." Mike threw back half of his drink as the guy's eyes snapped to the phone in his hands.

There was a long pause as the guy stared at the phone, looking like he was trying to will it to ring with his mind. "He's not going to call," he finally said, so quietly Mike barely heard him over the clamoring noise of the casino. "I miss him. I should have told him." Just when Mike was convinced the guy was just drunkenly rambling to himself, he turned to Mike and said, "You look like him."

There was a touch of defiance in his tone, as if daring Mike to contradict him. He was half tempted, unnerved by how badly he wanted to see those blue eyes spark again. Instead, he held out his hand with a carefully blank expression. "Name's Mike, just so there's no confusion."

The guy eyed him warily, then reluctantly took his hand. "Rodney," he said.

During the course of the night, and more drinks than Mike could count, he and Rodney exchanged small talk and sob stories. Mike told him all about how he'd nearly done jail time for accidentally burning down half the Everglades, and Rodney had scoffed, "You think _that's_ destructive?"

"You think it isn't?" Mike challenged.

Rodney just took another long swig of his beer, then mumbled something that sounded like, "Try me again after you've blown up five sixths of a solar system."

There was no way Mike could have heard him correctly over the noise of the casino, but when he frowned and asked, "What?" Rodney just shook his head, and moved on to tell Mike about his job. He'd had some cushy post as a government scientist in league with the military, but he'd been forced to transfer for some reason or another. He and his friend, fuck buddy, boyfriend, whatever—they'd been transferred to different jobs in different states, and he was obviously feeling homesick. When Rodney was finished, Mike simply said with no real malice, "Damn, Rodney. You're one whiny bitch, you know that?"

Rodney had given him an aggravated eye roll and a mirthless grin. "Surprisingly, you're not the first person to tell me that."

Towards the end of the night, Rodney got unsteadily to his feet and made vague noises about taking a cab back to the hotel where he was staying, but Mike just clamped his hand firmly around Rodney's wrist and said, "Don't be stupid, Rodney. You can crash in my hotel room. It's gotta be a step up from the Holiday Inn, or wherever the fuck it is you're staying."

Rodney looked at him uncertainly and reminded him about the flight he had to catch tomorrow, so Mike tightened his grip on the bones of Rodney's wrist and dragged him along, making it clear he wouldn't take no for an answer. He'd been wanting something like this all night, either a good fight or a good fuck, and he had a feeling with Rodney he'd be getting both.

He wasn't disappointed. As soon as they were inside his hotel room, he shoved Rodney up brutally against the door, kissing him with a ferocity he hadn't acknowledged he'd felt until that moment. Caught off guard, Rodney pushed gently at his shoulders until Mike bit down hard on his bottom lip, drawing blood. The next thing Mike knew he'd been shoved halfway across the room with a strength he hadn't anticipated, Rodney giving a surprised shout at the pain. Breath coming in harsh pants, Mike licked his lips, savoring the coppery taste of Rodney's blood in his mouth. Rodney lifted his fingers gingerly to his lips. When he brought them away his eyes flicked up to meet Mike's with a blazing glare, fury and outrage and intensity all zinging straight to Mike's cock, instantly hardening inside his pants. He met Rodney's fierce gaze with one of his own, too turned on to bother calming his ragged breathing, waiting to see what Rodney did next. It was all up to him, he could leave if he wanted. Mike would let him, but he wouldn't be happy about it.

The silence stretched for several seconds, anticipation and blind lust building in Mike's chest, and then Rodney was moving. He crossed the room with a determined stride and fisted both hands in the front of Mike's shirt, pulling him into a harsh kiss and biting fiercely at his bottom lip, returning Mike's favor from earlier. Tongues lapped at the stinging cuts while hands pulled at clothing, popping buttons, ripping seams, and splitting zippers until they were both naked and Mike was so worked up he could hardly breathe. This was so much better than being with a woman, than being with Julie, who would push and moan and bite and suck and claw, but who Mike always knew he would overpower eventually. But with Rodney, their strengths were almost evenly matched, hands shoving and pulling at each other in equal bids for control, making it that much more satisfying when Mike was finally able to get the upper hand and shove Rodney back onto the bed, pinning him with his body.

Rodney gasped and arched up as their cocks met, digging his fingernails into the tender flesh of Mike's ass, teeth scraping at his split lip. Rodney's body shifted under Mike's, trying to flip them over, but Mike just pressed Rodney harder into the mattress. With a determined growl, Rodney grabbed him by the biceps and spun him onto his back in a move he must have learned while working for the military. He latched fiercely onto a nipple, sucking it hard into his hot, wet mouth. Mike groaned, but then Rodney sank his teeth in hard enough to bruise, and Mike grabbed him by the jaw and wrenched his head away with a harsh, "Fuck!" Mike tried to sit up, to gain some leverage, but Rodney easily shook himself out of Mike's grasp. He laid a hand flat against Mike's chest, giving him a commanding shove back down onto the mattress and holding him there.

The next thing Mike knew he had Rodney's mouth wrapped around his cock, sucking determinedly up and down the shaft. Rodney's hand was like a lead weight on his chest, and when the hint of teeth caught the underside of the head Mike sucked in a sharp gasp, struggling in vain to arch his back against the force of Rodney's hand pressing him into the mattress. Rodney's other hand was hard on his hip, preventing him from fucking up into Rodney's unrelenting mouth, so he grabbed fistfuls of Rodney's hair and began tugging ruthlessly, trying to make Rodney take him impossibly deeper and not caring if he gagged. Rodney struggled against Mike's control, releasing his hold on Mike's body so he could shove away his hands. When Mike just let out a frustrated grunt and made another grab for Rodney's head, Rodney pulled off so he could clamp his fingers around Mike's wrists, pinning them forcefully to his sides before bending down and biting the inside of Mike's thigh in punishment. Mike let out a howl somewhere between pain and pleasure, frustration bubbling up in his chest at his helplessness.

Unable to twist his hands from Rodney's merciless grip, he used the leg that wasn't currently being assaulted by Rodney's mouth and jabbed one knee hard into his ribs. All the air rushed out of Rodney's lungs, and Mike took advantage of Rodney's gasp and sudden recoil to give him a full body shove onto his back. Mike straddled Rodney's hips and wrestled his hands over his head, loving the feel of Rodney's bulky muscles as they stretched and bent to his will. Baring his teeth victoriously in what could almost be called a grin, he put his mouth to Rodney's ear and whispered in a voice rough and demanding, "I'm gonna fuck you, Rodney. And you're gonna take it all." He punctuated the statement with a flick of his tongue along the shell of Rodney's ear, and the hitch in Rodney's breath couldn't have been pleasant, considering Mike had probably bruised his ribs.

Mike latched on to Rodney's thoroughly abused lips, alternately shoving his tongue into Rodney's mouth and digging his teeth into Rodney's tongue when it poked past his lips, and thank god Mike had anticipated the night ending like this before he'd headed down into the casino. He adjusted his grip on Rodney's wrists so he could hold Rodney down with one hand, blood rushing hot through his veins as Rodney struggled against him. With his free hand, Mike fished out the condom and lube he'd placed in the nightstand earlier, then leaned over to once again pin Rodney with his weight. He bit down on Rodney's bottom lip and tugged it between his teeth, drawing a fresh bit of blood to the surface as he drove two slick fingers into Rodney's ass. Rodney yanked his bleeding lip from Mike's grasp, locking him in a steely blue gaze as Mike continued to pump his fingers in and out of Rodney, their faces so close the tips of their noses almost touched, locked in a staring contest and a battle of wills to see who would crack first. Rodney's mouth was drawn into a thin, tight line, his eyes wide and blue and furious, but when Mike shoved in a third finger and pressed hard against Rodney's prostate, he took great pleasure in watching those eyes roll back into Rodney's head, an uncontrolled moan escaping the back of his throat.

Still fingering Rodney's ass, Mike latched blunt teeth onto the soft skin just under Rodney's collarbone and bit down, hard. Rodney writhed and bucked helplessly beneath him, his solid cock dribbling his stomach with precome. When Rodney gave a weak, broken whimper, Mike released him completely, giving Rodney about ten seconds to recover while Mike rolled on the condom. Then he hefted Rodney's legs over his shoulders and gave a sudden, forceful thrust into Rodney's tight heat, burying himself nearly to the hilt. Both of their backs arched simultaneously as the white-hot spike of pleasure ripped through them. Mike didn't give Rodney time to adjust, didn't really care. He began moving, rough thrusts in and out, both of them moaning and grunting so often it was impossible to tell who was making which noises. But it was definitely Rodney who groaned, low and insistent, "Harder."

Mike fixed Rodney with a wicked grin and slowed his pace. "Bastard," Rodney ground out, lifting his legs from Mike's shoulders so he could wrap them tight around Mike's torso, digging his heels into Mike's ass and thrusting his own hips up in an effort to control their rhythm.

In response, Mike summoned all his willpower to shove himself as deep as he could go and just held on, plastering himself across Rodney's body and holding him still with his weight. He dug his thumb into the bite mark below Rodney's collarbone as he kissed him, hot breath and tongues and lips tangling violently, fighting for control. Then Rodney grabbed a fistful of hair at the back of Mike's head and yanked, forcing his neck and shoulders into an arch so Rodney could lean forward and clamp down on the same nipple he'd abused earlier. His teeth dug in even more sharply than they had before, ensuring the bruise was deep enough make the nub raw and tender for days. Mike shoved him away with a curse and a shout, leaning back to snarl angrily down at Rodney, who looked back with defiance and challenge clear in his eyes. And Mike decided that if the son of a bitch wanted harder, he'd give him harder.

Mike wrapped strong hands tight around the backs of Rodney's knees and lifted them just above his own shoulders, holding Rodney's ass in the perfect angle for Mike to slam into him, over and over, rapid-fire thrusts that had Rodney's whole body rocking back with the force of them. Rodney reached behind himself to grab onto the headboard in an attempt to steady himself, his face twisted in pain and ecstasy, and Mike knew he was close, so close, he just needed an extra push to fall over the edge. "Come on, Rodney," he growled through clenched teeth. "You'd better come for me right fucking now."

That was all it took to plunge Rodney into orgasm, his cock pulsing without ever being touched, spilling semen across his stomach and chest. Mike didn't give him time to recover, just pulled out and commanded, "Turn over. On your knees." When Rodney didn't move fast enough for his liking, Mike grabbed the back of Rodney's neck and shoved him the rest of the way over, planting his face into the pillow. "Move," he growled, and Rodney lifted himself on all fours, throwing a mildly pissed off look over his shoulder. Mike guessed he was still too blissed out from his orgasm to get really worked up. Latching on to Rodney's hips with a vice-like hold, Mike was determined to fuck the anger back into him.

The first thrust nearly sent Rodney toppling face-first into the headboard, his hands coming up to brace himself just before his forehead made contact, and this time the look he cast over his shoulder was a definite glare. Mike answered with and even harder thrust of his hips, and Rodney held on with white knuckles as Mike pounded into him, the heavy slap of his hips crashing into Rodney's ass matching time with his furious grunts. The bed creaked ominously with the force of each thrust, Rodney's death grip on the headboard causing it to move with his body, thudding against the wall. Mike kept up the bruising pace for as long as he could, slamming rough and wild into Rodney's ass, until Rodney hung his head between his arms and groaned, "Fuck, just _come_ already!" His voice held anger and frustration, but there was also the hint of a plea there, letting Mike know that Rodney couldn't take much more of this. He reached up with one hand and dug blunt nails into the top of Rodney's shoulder, pressing his mouth to the other and sucking another mark onto Rodney's skin above his shoulder blade, finally letting his orgasm wash over him in a moment of blinding, bone-melting pleasure.

Mike came back to himself to realize they'd both collapsed, Rodney wedged between his body and the mattress, his cock still buried in Rodney's ass. Groaning, he pulled out as gently as he could, but Rodney still twitched and grunted beneath him at the sensation. Pressing a dry kiss to the back of Rodney's neck in apology, Mike got up and made his way to the bathroom to dispose of the condom, mildly surprised to see it had survived the ordeal intact. He came back with a warm washcloth and tossed it carelessly onto Rodney's chest, then flopped down onto the bed on his back, one hand behind his head as he looked up at the ceiling. By his side, Rodney winced a little as he wiped down tender flesh, then he dropped the cloth to the floor and adopted a similar stance, hands clasped over his stomach. They settled into a surprisingly comfortable silence, and Mike's thoughts drifted back to their conversation in the casino, about how Mike looked like the guy Rodney had wanted to call. Turning just his head to face him, he asked casually, "So, were you trying to punish him or yourself?"

After a long pause, Rodney said, "A little of both, I think." He pushed the heels of his hands against his closed eyes, sounding defeated for the first time since Mike had met him. "I just want to go home."

Mike's jaw clenched at the tone, and he fervently hoped Rodney didn't open his eyes, because he didn't want to see the same sad resignation there as he'd seen in Julie. "Do me a favor, Rodney. Stop being such a fucking pussy." Mike rode right over Rodney's squawk of protest, fixing him with a steely gaze. "You heard me, now shut up and listen. When you see Mr. Right tomorrow, tell him how you feel. Quit your fucking job, if that's what's keeping you apart. If it's what you want, then _do_ something about it, fight for it, and don't just roll over and give up."

Rodney sighed. "It's not that simple."

"Then make it that simple." Mike snapped angrily. "You want to go home? Figure out a way."

Rodney frowned back at him for a long time, then something about his face changed. "Thanks," he breathed, "I think I needed that." He leaned over and pressed a kiss to Mike's lips, so tender and sweet and grateful that it made him ache with an indefinable tug, made him want to wrap himself around Rodney and never let him go, and it scared the living shit out of him.

Jerking away from Rodney's mouth, Mike rolled onto his side, his back to Rodney as he said, "Go to sleep. You've got a plane to catch tomorrow." Rodney heaved a sigh, and then they were both slowly drifting towards sleep.

~~~

Mike was the first to wake the next morning, Rodney curled up and breathing deeply on his side of the bed. He briefly considered waking Rodney, maybe for a quickie before Rodney had to leave, maybe for a long, slow fuck that made Rodney miss his flight so he could stick around with Mike for an extra day. Maybe more. Mike realized he could get used to this, to seeing the spark in those blue eyes flash to life like a methane torch, to fighting and fucking and loving and hating Rodney all at once, and it was that thought that finally had Mike rolling carefully out of bed. Because while Rodney needed to learn to hold on and fight, Mike needed to learn to let go.

He sifted through the room for salvageable clothing, most of what he was wearing last night laying tattered on the floor, including his favorite shirt, but he couldn't bring himself to be angry about it. He pulled on a grey t-shirt and jeans, leaving out some spare clothes for Rodney since what he'd been wearing last night was in much the same state as Mike's clothing. Then he gathered the rest of his meager belongings, since most of his shit was still in his car, and slipped from the room, determinedly not looking back. He checked out at the front desk and set up a wake-up call for Rodney with hopefully enough time for him to catch a cab back to his hotel before going on to the airport, then headed out to his car.

Maybe Rodney would make it work with what's-his-face, maybe not. If nothing else, last night had given Rodney a swift kick to the ass, and in the back of his mind that lifted Mike's spirits, because it meant he was capable of something besides destruction. Maybe someday he would admit to himself that he'd made mistakes with Julie, that he'd been responsible for breaking the one thing about her he loved the most, and that he couldn't afford to make those same mistakes again. Maybe he had already come to that realization, and that was why he knew he had to stay the hell away from Rodney, because he imagined the world would be a little dimmer if he managed to put out the spark in those eyes.

Mike got into his car and drove into the hazy sunrise, no real destination in mind, just knowing he had to get away. He drove away from the flashing lights and noise and crowds of the city, towards the open quiet of the desert, towards the new light cresting over the horizon. He was ready to be alone, at least for a while.

~The End~  


  
Part 2 (Sequel):

Title: Rolling with the Punches  
Author: Ras Elased  
Rating: PG-13  
Summary: John sees the marks that Mike left on Rodney.

  
~~~

John was ashamed to admit that he didn't notice at first. Sure, he saw at dinner the way Rodney kept tugging down the cuffs of his sleeves, the way he stifled the occasional wince as he moved, but John just dismissed it all as jet lag, or Rodney being uncomfortable in a suit, whatever.

John saw the marks right before they were about to pull off one hell of a crazy stunt to retake Atlantis. He, Rodney, and Carson had snuck into the locker room to suit up, and John was making a few final adjustments to his tac vest when he heard Carson give a surprised whisper from behind him. "Bloody hell. Rodney, let me have a look at that."

John turned, following Carson's line of sight. John barely caught a glimpse of the faint bruising along Rodney's ribs and livid mark on his shoulder blade before they hastily disappeared under Rodney's t-shirt. Without turning around, Rodney grabbed his uniform jacket and said, "I'm fine, Carson. It's nothing."

"It's not nothing. You've been acting like you're in pain all night, lad. What happened?"

"I said I'm fine," Rodney repeated a little harshly, not meeting anyone's eyes. He hurriedly pulled on his jacket, but John still caught the hint of bruising on his wrists before they were covered up. John got a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach, and he reached out to grab Rodney's arm. Rodney instantly jerked away from John's grasp with surprising roughness.

"Buddy, talk to us," John said softly, a thread of steel under his concern. He scrunched his eyebrows at Rodney, and now that he looked closer Rodney's lips looked bruised. Maybe he'd been punched? "Did somebody hit you? Were you mugged?"

John's concern was met with a roll of blue eyes that still stubbornly refused to meet his. "I was not mugged, I was not beaten up my mob bookies, and sadly I was not jumped by hordes of physics groupies in heat. I tripped on the stairs last night, okay? I just fell, and…and bit my lip. No big deal. Now in case you've both forgotten, we have a few more important things to take care of right now."

Carson was undeterred. "If you don't mind, I'd like to take a look, son."

"I do mind!" Rodney clutched his tac vest to his chest like a shield. "I told you, it's _nothing_."

"That didn't look like nothing, McKay," John said, wondering what other injuries Rodney was hiding. Swallowing past the lump in his throat, he asked, "Did….Did somebody…"

This time, Rodney finally met John's eyes, and he was taken aback by the look of embarrassment and guilt and unflinching vehemence he found there. "No," Rodney said, his voice like iron in its certainty. Snapping his fingers at them, Rodney began purposefully heading out of the locker room as he ushered, "Chop chop. We're on a schedule, remember?"

John stepped into his path and put a hand to his chest. "This conversation isn't over, McKay."

"Oh goody. Something to look forward to in case we don't all die horribly," he replied with his usual acerbic tone, then shoved past John. He had no choice but to follow. He'd get his answers later, whether Rodney wanted to fess up or not.

~~~

After they'd recaptured Atlantis, and John had—surprisingly—not been court marshaled, he headed back to his quarters. He intended to take a quick shower and maybe a nap, so he'd be refreshed when he went to talk to Rodney. Though John doubted he'd be able to sleep. Every time he closed his eyes, he saw the marks on Rodney's skin in 3-D Technicolor.

Stepping out of the transporter, he was a little shocked to find Rodney waiting by the door to his quarters. "Rodney? What are you—"

"Let's just say I decided to take a friend's advice and do something for a change," Rodney explained, fidgeting slightly. "Besides, this saves you the trip to my quarters I know you were planning for later."

Caught out, John pressed his lips together and ducked his head, then waved them both into his quarters. They stood in awkward silence for a long time, John determined to let Rodney go at his own pace, but still finding it terribly ironic that he had come to his quarters to talk, yet he hadn't actually _said_ anything.

Finally, Rodney broke the tension. "I wasn't attacked. I was angry," he began. When a long time went by and Rodney still hadn't elaborated, John wondered if Rodney expected him to say something. He had no clue what to say, but he began to open his mouth anyway. Thank god Rodney chose that moment to resume speaking, though what he said knocked the air out of John's lungs as effectively as a kick to the chest. "I missed you." There was another pause, shorter this time, in which John couldn't make heads or tails of his own thoughts, and then Rodney was speaking again, his words tumbling out in a rush. "I missed you, but I couldn't say it, so I was angry, at myself mostly, but at you too, because you couldn't say it either, and I was just…I was angry. And I needed to…to work that out, I think." Then quietly, almost to himself, Rodney added, "You were never supposed to know."

John's faltering mind struggled to catch up. "Wait, Rodney, you…you _let_ someone…"

"In all fairness, he walked away looking about the same as me," Rodney added hastily, the anxiety in his voice edged up a notch.

Wait, _he_? Rodney had slept with someone while on Earth. A man. A man who'd given Rodney bruises, who'd marked him like… "Take off your shirt."

Rodney's eyes widened almost imperceptibly. "I…what?"

"Take off your shirt, Rodney. I want to see what he did to you." John's voice was flat and even, the tone he used when he had to give a particularly difficult order. Rodney recognized it, and he complied, hesitantly pulling his shirt over his head, leaving the back of his hair mussed. John didn't notice, as his eyes were transfixed to Rodney's skin.

John felt like everything had suddenly come into painfully sharp focus. He noticed every slight discoloration on Rodney's skin, every minor cut and bruise thrown into sharp relief, making the most livid marks stand out like flashing neon signs that screamed, "Another man's mouth was here!" Rodney stood stock still under John's scrutiny, letting John circle him and catalogue every mark he could find. In addition to the bruises on his shoulder blade and ribs that John had seen in the locker room, there was also another bite mark just under his collar bone, the imprint of blunt, square teeth along the edges. There were sharp crescents along the crest of one shoulder where nails had dug into his skin, the constellation of five points leaving the ghost imprint of a hand, looking like he had been grabbed from behind. His lips looked bruised, but now John could tell it was from being bitten, not punched. The hint of fingerprint bruises snuck above the waistband of Rodney's pants, trailing along the line of his hips, each faint circle large enough to fit a man's fingertips. There were matching ones pressed into the skin just above each wrist.

Reaching out, John wrapped one hand gently around Rodney's wrist, running his thumb lightly over the purple smudges like he could just wipe them away. John wasn't angry, though he really felt he should be, given the situation. "He could have really hurt you, Rodney."

"I know," Rodney said. He was too quiet and compliant for John's liking. "I don't expect you to understand."

_Good_, John thought ruefully. _Because I don't_. Rodney had said he'd needed this, and they'd all gotten a little lost and desperate being away from Atlantis, being away from each other, for so long. John supposed he'd had his own hand in that, but he honestly hadn't meant to push Rodney away. The thought that John had driven Rodney to this made him feel sick. If something had happened, if Rodney had come back broken…god, John couldn't have taken it. He'd grown to love the way Rodney's mere presence could take over an entire room, the way they could argue over anything or nothing and still love every minute of it. John hated the idea of losing that, all because he couldn't admit how he really felt.

John swallowed hard, then tried to give Rodney what he hoped was a small, reassuring smile. "I did miss you, you dumbass," he said. "I thought you knew."

Rodney's answering smile looked a little forced. "I guess I wasn't sure."

John looked down to run his thumb over Rodney's wrist once more, then looked back up to meet blue eyes. He may not always be able to talk about his emotions, but from now on he could at least make sure Rodney knew how he felt. No one else would ever leave another mark on Rodney, let alone touch him. "Don't ever do anything that stupid again," he said.

Rodney's chin immediately jutted out in defiance. "You mean the bruises, or the fact that I was with a man?"

"Rodney, I…I don't mind the guy thing, so much," John said, voice tentative. "It's just a little…surprising, I guess."

Rodney peered at him suspiciously, then said, "Good surprising or bad surprising?"

John held his breath. If he went there, there was no turning back. Slowly, John brought Rodney's wrist up to his lips. The kiss was hesitant and feather light, just the barest graze of lips along the inside edge, but John felt his breath catch in his chest, eyes never leaving Rodney as he watched his reaction. "Good," he whispered into Rodney's skin.

They stayed frozen in that moment for what felt like an eternity and an instant all at once, blood thrumming noisily through John's veins, and then Rodney brought his hand up to cradle the side of John's face, eyes wide and hopeful. Their kiss was soft and tender, John gently stroking the tip of his tongue along the cut he could feel on Rodney's bottom lip.

They stayed like that for a long time, just touching and kissing each other, fingertips brushing lightly along the ever increasing amount of exposed skin. When they finally fell into bed together, John took meticulous care to kiss every mark on Rodney's body, because just like Rodney had needed those marks in the first place, now John needed to soothe them away with soft lips and loving touches. He needed to kiss away whatever remained of Rodney's self-doubt, his loneliness, until only John remained. Because they'd finally fought their way to each other, and for the first time since retaking Atlantis, John felt like he'd come home.

  
~The End~

  


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**One Night at the Hard Rock**   
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